Thorin Oakenshield's Majestic Diary
by Fruitsie
Summary: Thorin Oakenshield, King Under the Mountain and Totally Majestic Badass of Middle Earth, does not have a raging hard-on for Bilbo Baggins. No, seriously. Just read his diary.
1. Chapter 1

Vaguely (VERY vaguely) inspired by Bridget Jones' Diary. A fine-ass piece of literature, if you ask me.

THIS WILL BE A MULTI-CHAPTER FIC, I repeat, THIS WILL BE A MULTI-CHAPTER FIC. I'm takin' this baby all the way.

Comments much appreciated!

(Also: The first chapter is shorter than future ones will be, js.)

* * *

**Day 1.**

**20:07.** Am considering throttling self with own braids. After getting lost twice trying to find this damned hobbit-hole, I've arrived to the sound of my company singing like a severely undertrained acapella band. Victims of the wizard's second-hand smoke, no doubt.

Note to self: find out what he is puffing in that pipe of his and promptly confiscate it. He's clearly too old and loony to be meddling with stuff like that in the first place. And is actually suggesting we take a _hobbit_ with us on our quest, for Mahal's sake.

**20:09.** Wait for them to stop singing before knocking on the door as impressively as possible. My knuckles will sting this night.

"Gandalf," I greet pleasantly as the door swings open (why is it round, does it need to be round?) "You said this place would be easy to find," I accuse haughtily as I step inside, "I got lost. Twice."

Take a look around, and am pleasantly surprised that I'm not standing in a glorified fox-hole, but actually a rather comfortable home, full of light and warmth and –

Oh.

"Thorin," Gandalf addresses me, "This is Bilbo Baggins – Bilbo, this is Thorin Oakenshield, the leader of our Company."

"So," I say absent-mindedly, observing the slight, small man who's staring back at me in a worryingly bewildered way (is there something on my face?), "This is the hobbit."

He's a little thing (no surprises there), barely reaching my shoulders, with copper curls and wide green eyes. He reminds me of a rabbit. A rather cute rabbit-

No. No, stop it.

"Tell me, Mr Baggins, have you done much fighting? Sword or axe, what's your weapon of choice?"

He smiles tentatively at me, all crooked and gentle.

…

_Bugger._

"Well I do have some skill in _conkers_, if you must know, but I fail to see how that's…relevant."

Resist the urge to smile (I want to smile, why do I want to smile?) and instead try to look as unimpressed as possible. Quick – say something patronising and mildly insulting!

"Thought as much. He looks more like a grocer than a burglar." Everyone laughs at my fantastically witty joke. Obviously.

The hobbit blinks at me, half a smile still etched on his face.

_Double bugger._

**20:20.** Am resolutely ignoring the hobbit and his stupid smiles. He's gone to rustle up some soup for me as apparently my Company, fat bastards that they are, have devoured everything within walking distance. I eye the empty table forlornly, and Bombur has the grace to look sheepish.

**20:22.** Fili and Kili look well. And by 'well' I mean rearing to fight something obscenely oversized and dangerous (what's new).

Kili is trying to shoot ale out of his nose, cheeks fit to bursting and eyes firmly crossed. He looks mildly deranged. Fili is crying with laughter and keeps whacking his brother on the back in an effort to make him fail.

"You'll never be able to – ah! _Gross_, you got it on my sleeve!"

Good to see the line of succession prosper.

"Both nostrils! Ha!"

Durin's beard…

"Enough," I command in my best 'King Under the Mountain' voice (also a favourite at drinking parties), "If you two do not begin to act your age, expect me to seriously reconsider your accompanying me on this quest."

That shuts them up.

Still not sure what possessed me to let them come along, especially after Dis threatened to cut my balls off with a rusty bread knife should anything happen to them.

A classy woman, my sister. She once pushed me into a river-rapid when we were youths because she was jealous of my beard coming in before hers.

"I almost drowned!" I spluttered as I dragged myself from the raging water.

"What d'you want, a medal?"

**20:28.** The soup _is_ rather good, not that I'm telling the hobbit that.

**20:35.** We discuss how my trip to the Iron Hills went and I confirm that Dain is 'not with us'. Because he is a lazy, gigantic dick of a dwarf.

Don't say that out loud, but share a glance with Dwalin and sense that he concurs.

**20:42**. The hobbit insists on leaning around my shoulder to look at the map like some sort of overly intrigued magpie. I try to concentrate on what Gandalf is saying but I can feel hot breath on the side of my neck and-

Oh, bugger it.

**20:45.** "I'm not afraid, I'm up for it! I'll give him a taste of dwarvish iron right up his jacksie!"

Ori.

Um.

Well.

**20:47.** "Well?"

"Hm?"

"How many dragons have you killed?"

Gandalf doesn't seem entirely sure how to answer this, and as ruckus breaks out over the idea I feel my patience just about snap.

Time for a speech of my own, I think.

**20:51.** "…or do we seize this chance to _take back Erebor!"_ Damn, I'm good at this.

Am met with a round of hearty applause. Obviously.

**20:55.** So apparently Gandalf has been hiding the key to _my_ mountain somewhere in those ridiculous robes of his. For who knows how long. Not that this angers me, or anything.

But it might have been nice if my father had given it to _me._

You know.

His son and heir.

Rather than a loopy weed-smoking wizard from Mahal knows where.

I eagerly take it off him, awed by it and the sudden wave of emotion which squeezes at my throat, when Fili graces us with a little of his unbelievable intuition.

"If there's a key…there must be a door."

Must resist the urge to either _a)_ clap slowly, or _b)_ cry because we are related.

"There's _another way in_," Kili adds helpfully, grinning like a rather slow but admittedly cheerful puppy.

Stare at them both.

**21:06.** "The task I have in mind requires a great deal of stealth," Gandalf tells us, "And no small amount of courage." He glances at Baggins pointedly.

Wonder if the 'small' part was a hobbit joke.

"But if we are careful, and clever, I believe it can be done."

I glance around at my Company. Nori is scratching his nose. Bifur is going cross-eyed again. If 'careful and clever' is what Gandalf thinks we'll be needing, I've bad news for him.

"That's why we need a burglar," Ori points out.

Hear the hobbit make a sound of agreement from behind me. "A good one too, I'd imagine!" he exclaims easily.

We all turn to look at him.

"And _are_ you?" Gloin asks.

Good one, Gloin.

Baggins does his bewildered-blinking-face again, and I hurriedly turn back around. Damn his face.

"Am I what?"

Cute.

Useless, but cute.

**21:10.** Baggins goes on to vehemently deny any type of theft-related lifestyle, and the Company begins arguing amongst themselves again. Am already tired of this quest and it hasn't even started yet.

Suddenly Gandalf seems to _grow_, rising out of his chair like a dark spirit complete with a booming voice of certain doom. _"IF I SAY BILBO BAGGINS IS A BURGLAR, THEN A BURGLAR_…he is."

Durin's beard.

Should probably remember that he's an _intimidatingly powerful wizard_ as well as a weed-smoking tree-hugger who deals in illegal fireworks.

Suddenly, I'm glad he'll be accompanying us on this journey.

Even if he gets everyone high on second-hand smoke in the process.

**21:14.** "Give him the contract."

Balin gives me said contract and I pass it on to the hobbit.

"Lacerations…"

Hm.

"Evisceration…!"

Oh, yes.

"…_Incineration!?"_

Well, almost certainly.

**21:15.** Apparently hobbits are fainters.

Bofur makes just one little comment about 'flesh melting from bones' and 'piles of ash', and with a small peep of 'nope' the little man is down for the count.

Excellent. We shall be relying on a burglar _who passes out at the mere mention of incineration _to possibly sneak under a dragon's nose. Cannot go wrong.

**21:17.** As Gandalf goes about settling the unconscious hobbit in an armchair to recover, I act very non-interested indeed and raise an eyebrow at Bofur. "What do you think, friend? Does he look like an expert burglar to you?" _No, he looks like a green-eyed little sprite or a cute little rabbit –_

Stop it.

"Oh, I dunno," Bofur comments cheerily, "It's hard to tell. Seems a nice enough chap."

Resist the urge to roll my eyes. "That doesn't answer my question."

"Don't be too quick to judge, laddie," Balin tells me sternly, and _honestly_ if he wasn't so old and such a good friend I'd wallop him one for calling me 'laddie' still. "He might be just what we need."

Huh.

**21:25.** We watch the hobbit leave Gandalf's side, resigned to his solitude. "You were saying, Balin?" I ask sarcastically.

Balin sighs in defeat. "It appears we have lost our burglar. Probably for the best – the odds were always against us."

So much for Mr. Optimistic.

**21:28.** "I would take each and every one of these dwarves over an army from the Iron Hills," I tell him surely.

An army from the Iron Hills would be nice, of course, but you can't have everything.

"For when I called upon them they answered," My speeches are seriously the best, I can already feel tears coming on, "Loyalty, honour, a willing heart…I can ask no more than that."

Well, I _could_ ask more, but I'm not going to.

**21:35.** Time for some singing, I think. Haven't had a good group song since Fili, Kili, Balin, Dwalin and I got drunk in a pub in Dale, and began singing a chorus of rather insulting shanties to some of the human men also drinking there. Dwalin's favourite was: 'you're a man ne'er so smart, you're wife's a useless tart,' which in our drunken stupor we had all thought was the wittiest thing in Middle Earth. Needless to say it didn't go down very well.

It probably didn't help matters that I started shouting 'Don't touch me, peasants," when we were manhandled out, but I _am_ a King, for Mahal's sake.

Perhaps something a little more cultured for tonight.

**Day 2.**

**08:06.** Am surprised when I hear the hobbit's trilling voice calling for us to stop the next morning as we ride out. I had not taken wagers like the rest on whether he'd come, but I had secretly predicated he wouldn't and _hoped_ he would. Gandalf will be unbearably smug.

Turn in the saddle to watch Baggins' approach, his flushed face complimented by a breathless smile and wide, green eyes that flash like freshly cut emeralds and _oh for the love of_-stop it. Stop it now.

"I signed it," he tells us, proudly waving about the contract like a banner, before passing it to Balin who checks it over.

Baggins catches my eye but quickly looks away, ever bashful.

"Everything seems to be in order," Balin announces happily, smiling down at the little hobbit who is, apparently, our new burglar. "Welcome, Master Baggins, to the Company of Thorin Oakenshield."

There's a friendly wave of cheering, and I impatiently kick my pony back into moving. "Get him a pony."

The hobbit immediately tries to insist he can walk (please), but is abruptly shut up – I glance behind me to observe him scrambling about on the saddle Fili and Kili have deposited him in, looking rather put out.

Can't even mount a pony properly. Excellent.

…

But he _does_ have a rather nice-

No.

No. Stop that.

Stop it.

He notices me watching him, and we both look away so quickly I almost get whiplash.

…..

_Bugger._


	2. Chapter 2

Guys, I got up the other morning to check out what the general response was to this fic and I almost inhaled half a mug of tea in shock. Seriously, cheers! :)

So far I've been replying to every comment, but I think from this point on I'll have to stop doing this as SO BLOODY MANY of you lovely mixes have been leaving said comments, and if I try replying to them all I'll be here forever. But do note, I WILL STILL READ AND APPRECIATE EVERY SINGLE ONE, so please continue!

This is a pretty quick update, can't promise it'll always be that way.

Off to sleep forever.

* * *

**Day 23.**

**23:10.** Gloin snores like a Balrog with a chest infection.

It's for this reason I am still up, taking watch with Fili, Kili and Balin by the fire. It would all be rather cosy was it not for the rocks digging into my ass. They have absolutely no business being there.

**23:12. **Notice something stirring out the corner of my eye, and squint into the dark.

It's the hobbit, creeping away from his bedroll (probably too disturbed by Gloin's symphony of snores to sleep, like I) with what looks to be an apple in his hand. He gives it to one of the ponies, murmuring softly to her.

Huh.

Bilbo Baggins: _Horse Whisperer._

Sigh irritably and shift arse to a more comfortable position.

Or, perhaps, Bilbo Baggins: Waster of Valuable Food.

**23:13.** There is a low screech on the air, and we all freeze.

Bilbo turns around and stares at us as, eyes popping out of his head like a confused deer with no great sense of direction.

It's extremely _not _cute at all.

"What was that?" he asks anxiously.

"Orcs," Kili answers, and I sit up a little straighter.

"Orcs!?" Baggins breaths in horror, and he's so skittish he practically _dances_ towards us.

"Throat-cutters," Fili adds on, "They'll be dozens of them out there."

Oh, here we go. Fili and Kili, the Great Piss-Takers of Middle Earth.

"The Lowlands are crawling with them," Fili continues in a purposefully casual tone.

Tonight must be _Scare The Shit Out Of The Hobbit _night.

Kili tells him, "They strike in the wee small hours when everyone's asleep. Quick and quiet – no screams." He shakes his head seriously. "Just lots of blood."

Baggins looks torn between bursting into tears and having a minor aneurism.

Nephews begin sniggering, and I eye the hobbit worriedly.

Time to crack out what I like to call _The_ _Disapproving Uncle_.

**23:15.** "You think that's funny? You think a night raid by orcs is a joke?"

My flaming disapproval practically grinds their amusement into dirt.

"We didn't mean anything by it..." Kili mumbles, shamed.

_Disapproval, disapproval…_

"I _know_ you didn't," I snap at him as I walk away, "You know nothing of the world."

What? It's true. Fili believed in unicorns until he was 52 (which is ridiculous because the only creature in existence remotely akin to that is the Pegasus, obviously) and I am sure Kili still thinks that the elves actually do shag trees ('tree-shaggers' being a common insult amongst our people when referring to the pointy-eared bastards), which cannot seriously be right because the mechanics alone are mind-boggling.

**23:16. **Although, did once hear a pretty audacious rumour about Celeborn of Lothlórien and a willow tree…

**23:18.** Balin is telling them the story of the battle at Moria.

Am _not_ getting emotional. Must pretend not to hear and continue to stare out into the distance as regally as possible. Yes, good.

"We were leaderless," I hear Balin's voice say, "Death and defeat were upon us…and that is when I saw him."

Oh, this is my favourite part. It's all about me.

"A young dwarf prince, facing down the Pale Orc."

Ah, yes – old Milky, as I like to privately call him.

"He stood alone against this _terrible_ foe…"

Stood alone because no one else bothered to help me out, the lazy bastards. Bombur was probably organising snacks whilst they watched.

"His armour rent, wielding nothing but an oaken branch as a shield,"

And I hacked off Milky's arm with all the enthusiasm of a serial killer.

"Azog learned that day that the Line of Durin would not be so easily broken."

Here's where it gets rather majestic.

Act natural.

"We few had survived, and I thought to myself then…there is one who I could follow,"

Obviously.

"There is one I could call king."

Turn around to find whole Company standing. They are all staring at me as if I just gave birth, or did something equally awe-inspiring and unbelievable. I suppose many of them have never even heard that story in full before, which should really be a crime because I'm rather glorious in it.

Wonder what the hobbit thinks about me now.

Not that I care or anything.

"But the Pale Orc," Baggins asks Balin curiously (he no longer appears to be on the verge of wetting himself) "What happened to him?"

"He slunk back into the hall whence he came," I tell him as I saunter back over to my previous resting place, "That filth died of his wounds long ago."

Should hope so, too. Milky was never a very personable sort, if his trying to gouge my face off with an iron mace was any indication.

**Day 24.**

**10:40.** Is raining. Heavily. Am literally up to balls in water.

"Mr Gandalf!" Dori shouts over the downpour, "Can't you do something about this deluge!?"

Yes, Gandalf, bloody do something.

"It is raining, Master Dwarf," he replies and yes _thank you_, Gandalf, for reminding us, "And it will continue to rain until the rain is done."

I think I prefer him when he's smoking his damned pipe, all mellow and agreeable.

**10:42.** The wizard is discussing other wizards with Baggins.

"There are five of us. The greatest of our order is Saruman the White."

Sounds a nice enough chap.

"Then there are the two Blueses…do you know I've quite forgotten their names?"

Durin's beard.

"And who is the fifth?" the hobbit asks.

"Oh, that would be Radagast the Brown!"

There's something off-putting about having the title of 'the Brown' after your name. Gandalf _the Grey_ is less than exciting, too. Wonder how it works – do wizards get assigned a colour and have to dress in accordance, or do they choose a colour to wear and name themselves thus? What if they want to wear different colours every day - do they introduce themselves by a different name just as often? Either way it seems a rather pointless exercise. You won't catch me prancing about calling myself 'Thorin the Royal Blue with Some Black, Grey and the Odd Bit of Silver'.

Baggins queries casually, "Is he a great wizard, or is he…more like you?"

Cover up a snort by turning it into a manly sneeze, but still have to press my lips together hard to contain myself.

_Must not laugh._

Oin is giving me funny looks, unable to hear much of anything in the first place.

_Must. Not. Laugh._

"I think he's a _very_ great wizard," Gandalf defends with a definite pout in his voice.

Practically inhale my own tongue. The rain is somehow making me hysterical.

Oin still giving me funny looks.

**16:51.** We settle down in an abandoned farmhouse for the night, after Gandalf storms off because he's upset I dislike elves or some rubbish like that. 'Go to the Hidden Valley', he says. 'Lord Elrond could help us read the map', he says. 'We can get food and rest', he says.

Well, bollocks to that.

I would sooner fight Dis and her infamous frying pan than let _Lord Elrond_ (whoever that is) get his perfectly manicured hands on my map, and the only rest I'd ever get in an Elven homestead is the rest of _death_, when one of the cowardly bastards inevitably smothers me in my sleep.

"Everything alright?" The hobbit asks anxiously as the stroppy wizard passes him by, "Gandalf? Where are you going?"

"To seek the company of the only one around here who's got any sense," was his blunt reply.

"And who's that?"

"_Myself_, Mr Baggins!"

It's withdrawal from his beloved pipe, clearly. Someone should prescribe him some sort of self-help plan.

"I've had enough of dwarves for one day," he mutters just loud enough for me to hear (undoubtedly on purpose).

Glare at his retreating back.

Bugger Gandalf. Don't need him anyway.

**17:15. **As Bombur prepares dinner and Oin and Gloin get a fire going, I notice the hobbit has removed his burgundy jacket, leaning against a rock as he fiddles with it in his lap.

Very (extremely) casually walk up behind him until I can peer over his shoulders.

He has a sewing kit out.

Where in Durin's name could he _possibly_ have been hiding a-

No.

Stop it.

Watch as he attacks a loose button with needle and thread, expert yet seemingly soft fingers flying across the material-

_For Mahal sake, get it together!_

"Hobbit."

He almost falls off the rock, which I find funny, but then glances at me from beneath long, _long_ lashes, which I do not.

"Th-Thorin!" He greets me amicably, "Er… did you want something?"

"You have a sewing kit," I point out, still trying to understand.

"Ah, yes! I thought it might come in handy, see? The second button on my jacket has come loose. And here, the stitching on the sleeve design had come unthreaded already!" He sounds genuinely disturbed by this.

Blink at him.

"Surely you're not going to bother fixing that, too?"

He goes a little red, but straightens his shoulders and for the first time I can recall looks me squarely in the eye.

"There's absolutely no excuse for poor embroidery."

Huh.

**17:19.** In need of a moment's peace, and still a little bewildered by how highly Baggins regards fine embroidery skills, I take to majestically standing alone on the crest of the hill, just in case anyone feels like admiring me whilst they set up camp.

A little grey blob is disappearing into the brush far below, and I realise its Gandalf.

Squint suspiciously at him.

…Where does he even _live?_

**23:46. **Just scraping bowl clean of Bombur's stew when Fili and Kili barge out of the underbrush, looking rather bug-eyed and flustered.

So help me, if I find out they've been at Gandalf's weed again-

"Uncle!" They cry, pacing towards me, and for the first time I notice they have their weapons drawn.

Sit up straighter.

"Fili, Kili, what is it?"

"Bilbo," Kili gasps, "He – we–"

"Trolls have taken Bungo, Daisy, Myrtle and Minty," Fili tells me a great deal more coherently, "They've a camp set up not far into the forest there." He meets my eye. "Bilbo's gone to try and get them back."

"We need to help him!" Kili cries.

I hear the Company exclaim their shock, and the drawing of swords and axes.

Blink.

Must resist urge to brain self against rock.

"You let our burglar – a _hobbit_ – run off on his own to face a group of _trolls_."

Fili coughs. "Just…to investigate."

Kili is already running back into the forest like a crazed bull, shouting "Hold on, Bilbo!"

As if the trolls needed any more warning of our coming.

My nephews have always been notable champions at 'Who Can Make the Worst Decisions Today' (a popular game in my family line, evidently), but this is ridiculous.

"Alright," I say as I rise, "Let's get our burglar back, before Kili tries to do it single-handedly."

**12:05. **Kili does, as it turns out, try to do it single-handedly.

I lead the Company forward in a pointedly stealthy manner, only to peer through the bushes and witness Kili wildly hacking at a troll's leg, which begins shrieking and flailing and _Durin's beard_, the thing is easily 10-feet tall and there are two more of them – it's a wonder Kili isn't already crushed into paste.

"Drop him!" he shouts up at the middle troll, and it's then that I notice Baggins hanging upside-down by his ankles in one of the ugly bastard's humongous grip.

This is _not on_. I am the only one allowed to (theoretically) hang our burglar by his ankles around here.

"You wot!?" The troll exclaims in disbelief.

"I said…" Kili grins fearlessly up at him, "_Drop him_."

And _yes alright_ I might feel something like pride swell in my chest all of a sudden.

Or it's just heartburn, who knows.

Quite unexpectedly, the hobbit is suddenly flying through the air like a ludicrous sea bird (having been unceremoniously chucked at Kili), and this is obviously our cue.

**12:20**. As I thrust my sword towards one troll after another, hacking and slashing at them in amongst my kin, I imagine all three of them are Thranduil.

It's the little things that motivate you.

**12:24. **"Lay down your arms, or we'll whip his off!"

I stare up into the face of our hobbit, who looks to be on the verge of a minor psychological breakdown, held tight by his arms and legs.

I _could_ knock these trolls off their damned pedestal and tell them I've seen more convincing hostage situations when Bombur hogs the last of the dried beef, but I don't. They seem annoyingly serious.

Bugger everything.

**04:49.** I am in a sack.

I am in.

A _sack._

Want to cry about the indignity of it all.

"Don't bother cookin' em', we should just _sit_ _on em'_ and squash em' into jelly!"

"They should be sautéed, and grilled. With just a sprinkle of sage…"

"Ooh, that does sound quite nice!"

Can already envision the histories my people will write about this day.

_King-to-be Thorin Oakenshield set off on a noble quest for justice and glory, to reclaim our great and ancient homeland of Erebor, with fire and blood and hearts of courage, and everything was going so well until the daft bugger got himself thrown into a troll's hotpot._

This is all the hobbit's fault for somehow making me actually care about what happens to him. For just being so…and making me feel so….

Bugger it.

I hope they choke on me.

And I hope Gandalf feels so bad about abandoning us in our time of need that he builds a shrine in my honour. I shall haunt him until he does.

**04:51.** Everyone, practically piled on top of one another as they are, keeps wriggling and shouting to be set free as if it will actually work.

Am too exasperated by this point to join in.

"Wait!" The hobbit cries suddenly, "You are a making a…a _terrible_ mistake!"

What now?

"You can't reason with them, they're half-wits!" Dori cries.

Good point.

"Half-wits?" Exclaims Bofur, "What does that makes us!?"

_Very_ good point.

"I meant with the - uh, the seasoning," Baggins goes on.

"What _about_ the seasoning?" The first troll asks menacingly.

What sort of pre-death conversation is this.

"Well, have you _smelt_ them? You're going to need something stronger than sage to play this lot up!"

_Excuse me._

Everyone begins ranting and cursing again, this time at the burglar, and I join in.

"Traitor!" I shout at him, but pause. Tentatively sniff own armpit. Recoil.

Huh.

**04:55.** "Ah, the – the secret to cooking dwarf is, um…"

"Yes?" The troll urges impatiently. "Come on!"

"Is, uh…"

"Tell us the secret!"

"Yes, I'm _telling_ you," Baggins snaps, "The secret is…to…" He seems to consider this very hard for a moment. "…Skin them first!"

"_WHAT!?"_

Well. Excellent.

Skin is overrated anyway.

"Tom," the first troll calls behind him as we all go about shitting ourselves, "Get me filletin' knife."

**04:57.** It's only when Baggins begins talk of Bombur having 'worms' in his 'tubes' that I finally take the time to look at him. _Really_ look at him.

"In fact they _all_ have," he tells the trolls hurriedly, "They're infested with parasites, it's a terrible business – I wouldn't risk it, I really wouldn't."

He's buying us time.

Stare at him.

Clever, strange, _sexy_ little-

"Parasites? Did he say we have _parasites?_"

"We don't have parasites, you have parasites!"

_Oh for the love of-_

Kick Kili very (extremely) subtlety through my sack.

There's a moment of silence, then-

"I've got parasites as big as my arm!"

"Mine are the biggest parasites, I've got _huge_ parasites!"

How is this even happening?

**05:00.** _"THE DAWN WILL TAKE YOU ALL!"_

Freeze. Would recognise that Booming Voice of Certain Doom anywhere.

Swivel head around to stare up at the tall silhouette above us on a wall of rock, surrounded by the rising sun.

Durin's beard, Gandalf!

"Who's that?"

"No idea."

"Can we eat him too?"

With an earth-shattering _crack_, the wizard brings down his magic staff (clearly not a perfectly unthreatening walking stick as I previously assumed) and half of the rock wall splits clean in half (show-off), falling down and letting brilliant daylight spill into the small glade.

As our somewhat mentally challenged captors are transformed to stone, a chorus of ecstatic cheering is thrown the wizard's way.

Cannot help but grin like a fool.

Could quite literally kiss Gandalf (not that I will, might disrupt the group dynamic), and vow to never criticise his smoking habits ever again.

Quickly school features into a nice, comfy scowl before he comes to untie us all.

Pretty boring night, to be honest.

**05: 24.** "Where did you go, may I ask?"

Gandalf straightens up. "To look ahead."

"And what brought you back?" I persist.

"Looking _behind._"

It is impossible to get a straight answer out of anybody these days.

"Nasty business," he goes on cheerily enough, "Still, you're all in one piece."

"No thanks to your burglar," I say, but cannot for the life of me sound genuinely annoyed. Huh.

"He had the nouse to play for time. None of _you_ thought of that."

I glance across the glade and find the hobbit, surrounded by my Company as if he had always belonged there.

He laughs at something Bofur says, still weary and tired but clearly relieved, and his whole face lights up like a forge fire and _Mahal strike me down_, I have a serious problem.


	3. Chapter 3

I have been drowning in a sea of coursework from which there was no escape. But my brain is the Church of Hilarity, clearly, and could not be restrained. So here's the next bit, feat. DA MOTHERHUGGIN' ELVES. (Elrond's theme song is 'Whip My Hair' by Willow Smith, ok? Ok.)

Laterz.

* * *

**Day 25.**

**05:03.** There _are_ benefits to almost being cooked alive by trolls, as it turns out, and today those benefits come in the form of finding the beasts' cave.

A cave full of stolen treasure (excellent).

"These swords were not made by any troll," I murmur to myself as I pick up two rather sexy looking blades which have been lying here since approximately the dawn of time, if the cobwebs are anything to go by.

Gandalf takes one off me to examine it closer. "Nor were they made by any smith among men…" He looks closely at the metalwork and _since when_ has Gandalf been a weapons expert? Have no idea, but then again this is the wizard who sells illegal fireworks on the side and whose old-man walking stick is actually a Magic Staff of Death.

Am just about to grab own sword handle to unsheathe it when-

"These were forged in Gondolin!"

Freeze.

"By the High Elves of the First Age…"

I glare at Gandalf accusingly. Mahal is laughing at me.

Can't believe I thought it looked _sexy_, Durin's beard…May as well start fantasising about Thranduil himself while I'm at it (shudder).

"You could not wish for a finer blade," Gandalf tells me sternly, reading the disgusted expression on my face, and instead of throwing the damn thing away I reluctantly assess it more closely.

Well I suppose it _has_ got quite a nice-

And the balance _is_ rather-

…

_Bugger._

**05:05. **Stupid sexy elven blade on my belt, I watch as Gloin, Nori and Bofur dig a big hole for all the gold they've found here.

"We're making a long-term deposit," Gloin tells me.

Dwalin rolls his eyes.

"Let's get out of this foul place," I announce gruffly, quickly making my way to the entrance.

Call it 'foul' less because it stinks and more because it's packed full of elven paraphernalia, like the result of some grotesque hobby.

Why can't trolls collect stamps like normal folk?

**05:09. **So apparently Gandalf has found a sword suitable for Baggins. Torn between making strangled cat noises because it's the cutest sword I've ever seen and fits him perfectly, and being seriously concerned as he'll probably end up cutting himself.

Or do a Milky and lose an entire arm.

**05:10. **Hear distant rustling in bushes. Every book I've ever read as a dwarfling has taught me this cannot be a good thing.

"There's something coming!" I shout, and everyone springs into action, gathering around me, weapons drawn (still not sure how to feel about Ori favouring a _slingshot_).

Look over shoulder to locate hobbit.

_Oh for the love of-_

He can examine his new sword any time, why must it be now?

…

If only he'd examine _my_ swor-

No.

Stop it.

**05:12.** Of all the things I possibly expect to burst forth from the shrubbery, it is emphatically _not_ a wild-eyed old fogie shouting nonsense on a rabbit-drawn sleigh.

Rabbits.

Pulling a sleigh.

Have officially seen it all.

Perhaps Gandalf's second-hand smoke has finally gotten to me? Stare at own hands.

Am I even really here right now?

"Radagast!" Gandalf cries delightedly, "Radagast the Brown!"

But of course.

Anyone looking this deranged can only be a friend of Gandalf's.

**05:16.** Squint at them as they talk in private across the way.

Earlier suspicions confirmed: all wizards wear same colour as their name. How dull.

**05:21. **Sudden ominous howling on the wind, and am ninety-nine per cent sure it is no old fogie. Unless Gandalf keeps even stranger friends than first thought (honestly would no longer surprise me).

"Was that a wolf? Are – are there wolves out there?"

If Baggins doesn't _stop_ with the big green eyes and flummoxed disposition I am going to spontaneously lick him.

"Wolves…"Bofur echoes stiffly, "No, that is not a wolf."

As if to prove his point, a huge, snarling beast that can only be a warg appears on the rise of the sloping forest ground, and promptly lunges at us.

Because obviously our twenty-four hour quota of Life Threatening Situations has not been sufficiently filled today.

The bastard thing knocks Dwalin down, and I send my (very _not_ sexy) elven sword through its shoulder with as much force as possible, but then-

A snarl behind me and _oh good_, yes, am about to be eaten by Warg Number Two-

One of Kili's arrows flies past my head, and I turn to see the beast yelp and collapse at my feet.

Well.

Must resolve not to criticize Kili's rather elven choice in weaponry ever again.

"Warg scouts!" I announce gravely. "Which means an orc pack is not far behind."

Hobbit does a double take. "_Orc pack!?"_

He's so bloody _cute_ when worried about imminent death…

Gandalf turns to me, eyes blazing, and stalks over in a manner entirely too threatening for an old man (although must remember: contraband fireworks and Booming Voice of Certain Doom and Magic Staff of Death) "Who did you tell about your quest, beyond your kin?" he demands.

Durin's beard, he's going on the offensive. At me, no less! Why is this _my_ fault?

"No one."

"Who did you tell!?"

Is he deaf? (Probably.)

"No one, I swear!"

Mother of Mahal, someone get him his pipe already.

"What in Durin's name is going on?" I half-shout at him. Even _my_ nerves of steel can only take so much.

"We are being hunted," Gandalf tells me matter-of-factly.

Well. Excellent.

"We have to get out of here," Dwalin points out the obvious.

I like that plan.

"We can't, we have no ponies!" Ori yells from the hill rise, "They've bolted!"

I _liked_ that plan.

"I'll draw them off,"Radagast announces confidently.

All stare at him.

Yes, our saviour will definitely be the mad(der) wizard with bird excrement in his hair.

"These are Gundabad Wargs, they will outrun you!"

"_These_ are Rhosgabel Rabbits!"

There is a dramatic pause.

"I'd like to see them _try._"

Need a bit of a lie-down.

**07:16.** End up doing unnecessary amount of running around across grasslands, whilst Radagast leads orc pack on wild goose chase.

Turns out his rabbits _are_ fast little buggers.

Wargs must have huge inferiority complex all of a sudden.

"Ori, no!" I shout frantically, pulling the oblivious youth back by his scruff before he runs out into full view of the passing pack. He gives me an apologetic smile.

Durin's beard, how are we all not dead already?

"Where are you leading us?" I demand Gandalf, pressed close to the huge rock as the sounds of distant snarls and pounding paws set my teeth on edge.

He just glances at me, and then he's off again.

How is he so fit?

Note to self: Must start jogging regularly. Cannot afford to be outrun by old man with beard that weighs more than me.

**07:33.** Have Kili shoot a warg that finds our hiding spot, but its rider still lives (forgot how ugly orcs are, too).

Bifur and Dwalin get stuck in right away, hacking and slashing whilst the orc shrieks its last with unnecessary volume.

So much for staying quiet.

There is a chorus of howling on the air, a clear sign that the pack has heard our unbelievable ruckus, and we all glance at each other.

Baggins appears unusually calm.

Which means he's probably so tired of being terrified by now that's he just sort of regressed into himself, like a shy snail.

"Move!" Gandalf shouts, _"RUN!"_

Don't argue with the Booming Voice of Certain Doom.

**08:10.** "Where's Gandalf?"

"He's abandoned us!"

Typical. Probably trying to sell his fireworks off to the orcs whilst they're here. Hell, they're probably his suppliers.

"This way, you fools!"

Turn sharply to see Gandalf peeking out behind a mound of rock.

Honestly, there's no need for name-calling.

We all follow the wizard to find a long, dark rock-tunnel set into the earth, and one after the other we slide down.

Rather enjoyed it actually. Nine out of ten, would recommend.

Am debating having another go, but then the sound of a battle horn echoes from above. The cries of dying orcs is rather convenient, but confusing.

Durin's beard, have they found Gandalf's pipe and turned on each other in a weed-induced frenzy? Only explanation.

Dead orc suddenly tumbles down to land at our feet. Lovely.

Pull out arrow and inspect metalwork.

…

…Bollocks.

"Elves," I spit, throwing down the arrow to convey how _completely pissed off _I suddenly am. Have not slept for over 20 hours due to almost being filleted by trolls, attacked by wargs and orcs, subjected to ravings of loony wizards and now a bunch of bloody _elves_ have come to join the party.

Must prepare suicide plan in near future.

"I cannot see where the path leads!" Shouts Dwalin from the back of our little cavern, gesturing to the thin sliver of space between the bedrock, "Should we follow it or no?"

"Follow it, of course!" cries Bofur, and must agree with him.

Would rather take shady, 30-foot deep rocky path than let elves know we're down here. They'd start lecturing us on wisdom and greed and the cons of facial hair and then I really _would_ have to off myself.

Hobbit still looks a little bit snail-like.

**16:47. **Have spent practically whole day traveling through this infernal rock path. Walls so close together there's no room for two people to walk side-by side, and Bombur is struggling just on his own.

Feel like sardine in particularly unforgiving tin. On plus side hobbit is right in front of me, so I get to spend hours admiring his-

…His _jacket._

Yes.

Ok.

**16:49.** Finally escape claustrophobic Path of Despair, and for about 1.2 seconds am very relieved and quite cheery.

Then realize what I am looking at, down in the valley below.

"Here lies the last Homely House east of the sea…"

_Rivendell._

Meaning elves, and lots of them.

Restraining tears.

Turn to Gandalf, glaring at him as hard as possible without popping own eyes out.

"This was your plan all along," I accuse hotly, "To seek refuge with our enemy!"

"You have no enemies here, Thorin Oakenshield," he replies, "The only ill-will to be found in _this _valley is that which you bring yourself!"

Am going to spontaneously combust.

Hobbit's eyes slide casually our way, lips pursed in a way that suggests he is restraining himself from saying something.

Good. Cannot cope if Baggins takes Gandalf's side as well.

"You think the elves will give our quest their blessing?" I point out, "They will try to stop us."

"Of course they will! But we have questions that need to be answered."

Bugger. For once he's making perfect sense.

"If we are to be successful this will need to be handled with tact," he goes on, puffing out his chest like a pleased bird, "And respect. And with no small degree of charm. Which is why you will leave the talking to _me_."

I'm done.

**17:11.** Arrive at main courtyard. Everything so sickening flamboyant and colourful, looks like rainbow vomited. Eyes stinging.

Hobbit seems to be enjoying himself, though. His mouth hasn't been closed since we first spotted the damn place.

He would like Erebor too, wouldn't he?

Not that I care or anything.

Dwalin catches my eye. We share a look of complete exasperation.

Of all the places I had dreaded ending up on this journey, besides the inside of Smaug's stomach this was at the top of the list.

Actually, no.

Thranduil's home in Mirkwood was the top of the list. If we ever end up _there_ I will smother myself.

Greeted by young-looking brown-haired elf (though I suppose they're _all _young-looking, bastards) who calls Gandalf '_Mithrandir'._

Always knew he was shady, but did not realize he used aliases. Have bad feeling he is involved in more than illegal fireworks.

"I must speak with Lord Elrond," he tells the elf quickly.

"My lord Elrond is not here."

He'll be out not helping people as their kingdoms burn, no doubt. They're all alike.

"Not here? Where is he?"

It is then that a battle horn sounds out from far behind us, and we turn around.

Elves charging towards us on horseback. Of course.

"Get back!" I cry, "Close ranks!"

Make sure to pull hobbit into the middle of us as we huddle together and bare our weapons. He looks over his shoulder at me in confusion, and I hurriedly let go. Not like I was grabbing him by the _ass_ or anything...

**17:15.** After the elves are quite done practicing their stupid horse-show manoeuvres and have thoroughly encircled us, a particular pointy-eared bastard smiles down at our wizard as he dismounts.

"Gandalf!"

"Lord Elrond!"

How many friends does he _have?_

They begin talking to each other in Elvish (extremely grating language, can't be doing with it) and can sense the Company growing restless.

For all we know he and Gandalf are insulting us for all to hear. Beard _is_ beginning to get a bit unruly…

Touch it self-consciously.

Would kill for a good comb.

"Strange for orcs to come so close to our borders…"the elf says, finally remembering there are some of us here unable to understand the language of tree-shaggers, "Something, or _someone_ had drawn them near."

"Ah, that may have been us."

Elf turns and approaches me.

"Welcome Thorin, son of Thrain."

Honestly, so conceited…

"I do not believe we have met," I reply bluntly.

"You have your Grandfather's bearing…" Is he rubbing his immortality in my face and _oh Mahal be good_, giving me the glad-eye? "I knew Thror when he ruled Under the Mountain."

Durin's beard, it's obvious.

He wants me.

Why else would he be checking me over like that?

"Indeed?" I snarkily answer, "He made no mention of _you_."

There, that should be a clear enough message to keep his Elvish hands where I can see them.

He suddenly reels off some more of that flowery gibberish he calls a language, unfazed. Probably declaring his dirty intentions.

Must keep one eye open tonight.

"What is he sayin'?" Gloin demands angrily, "Does he offer us insult!"

He's offering _something…_

"No, Master Gloin, he's offering you food."

Or that, I suppose.

Thank Mahal.

"Ah, well. In that case lead on."

**17:32.** Follow Gandalf (if that is his real name) and lecherous Elf-Lord to dinner table.

Am distraught to discover distinct lack of meat. Vegetables everywhere.

Oh, I hate elves.

Hate them so much.

Baggins seems happy enough, but then he hasn't stopped smiling since we got here. This rubs me wrong way entirely. Watch him for a moment. He tucks into green rubbish contentedly, eyes flitting about everywhere at once as if he doesn't know where to look next, and then meets my gaze-

-and turn as red as a tomato.

In a daring mood, I try to smile at him. Feels strange - my face is not used to contorting this way – and think I may look more fearsome than normal. I stop.

Scowling so much easier.

**17:35.** Elf-women playing flute and harp as we dine.

Could play harp-lady under the table any day; back home am actually banned from playing because I have been known to bring grown men to tears.

It's a self-imposed ban. Kept losing friends because they got angry at me for emotionally raping them with sweet music and making them cry in public.

Not my fault I'm gifted.

**17:36.** Wonder what became of Radagast the Brown and his mutant rabbits?

**17:37.** Eldong (or whatever his name is) examines my very not-sexy elven sword.

"This is Orcrist," he tells me, "The Goblin-Cleaver, a famous blade. Forged by the High Elves of the west." He passes it back to me, "May it serve you well."

Am polite enough to nod, as the fact that my sword is called 'Goblin-Cleaver' cheers me up considerably. Wonder whether Eldong would be scandalized if I used said sword to 'cleave' elves rather than goblins.

Hopefully can one day rename it _Thranduil-Cleaver._

"And this," he breathes as he unsheathes Gandalf's sword (oh), "Is Glamdring. The Foe-Hammer. Sword of the King of Gondolin…"

Foe-hammer? Damn, that sounds even more majestic than mine.

Bugger Gandalf.

Maybe he _is_ a weapons expert.

"How did you come by these?" Eldong asks, bewildered.

"We found them in a troll hoard on the Great East Road," Gandalf replies with an 'if-you-can-believe-that' air about him.

Glare. Silly old fart is not meant to be giving away anything about our quest.

"Shortly before we were ambushed by _orcs_," he finishes huffily.

"And what were you _doing_ on the Great East Road?"

Shut up Eldong, honestly. So nosy. Entirely tempted to say 'Looking for your mother' or something else in that vein, but realize this may be counter-productive.

**20:55.** Gandalf, Eldong, Balin, Baggins and I have relocated to some poncey hall room to discuss serious matters.

"Our business is no concern of elves," I proclaim loudly, even though Eldong is stood right there.

"For goodness sake, Thorin, show him the map!"

No. Don't want to.

"It is the legacy of my people," I tell the wizard stubbornly, "It is mine to protect, as are its secrets."

Also don't trust anybody, dwarf and elf alike, with such glossy hair. He has used some sort of black magic to create that level of shine or I'm not majestic.

"Save me from the stubbornness of dwarves!" Gandalf exclaims, "Your pride will be your downfall."

_Excuse me._

What, is he a prophet now, too?

"You are standing in the presence of one of the few people in Middle Earth who can read that map. Show it to Lord Elrond!"

Elrond? Who the hell is-

Oh.

Seems Eldong is not called Eldong after all.

Sigh.

Gandalf is making perfect sense again. Most inconvenient.

Reluctantly give it to _Elrond_ even though Balin tries to stop me. If the elf starts cackling madly and runs of with it I will never forgive Gandalf.

He doesn't run off with it, thank Mahal. Instead considers the map for a moment, and then glances up at me in surprise. "Erebor."

So far, so good. Can evidently read, just waiting to see if he can read Ancient Dwarfish.

"What is your interest in this map?"

Nosey tree-shagger, will give him a piece of my m-

"It's mostly academic," Gandalf interrupts before I can say anything, cool as a cucumber, "As you know this sort of artefact sometimes contains…hidden text."

He glances at me warningly.

Sly old dog.

Still unsure if Gandalf is utter genius or just high loon. Bit of both, most likely.

Elrond moves into the moonlight to better see the map, and Gandalf calls after him, "You can still read Ancient Dwarfish, can you not?"

Honestly, so embarrassing not being able to read a map from your own race when an _elf_ can, of all people.

Glance at hobbit.

He looks very fine with moonlight playing in his hair-

_What is wrong with me._

**21:09.** Turns out hidden message is in 'moon runes', meaning we can only read the damned thing by the light of a Midsummer's Eve, and of a crescent moon.

Why my grandfather was such an annoyingly specific bastard I cannot comprehend.

"Fate is with you, Thorin Oakenshield. The same moon shines upon us tonight."

Oh.

Well, excellent.

It's about time fate was with me. Normally it's busy trying to bugger me in the ass.

The moon is bright up here on this overly elaborate rock balcony. The map transforms in the light, and the glowing written language of my people appears as if by magic on the old parchment.

Neat trick, that. Should write hidden messages this way on greetings cards to family I don't like.

"Stand by the grey stone when the thrush knocks," reads the elf, "And the setting sun with the last light of Durin's Day will shine upon the keyhole…"

Huh.

What the bloody hell does that mean?

Strike thinking pose.

"Durin's Day?" Queries the hobbit.

"It's the start of the dwarves' New Year," Gandalf replies, "With the last moon of autumn and the first sun of winter."

Mahal above, I remember last Durin's day. Got so drunk woke up with head in chamber pot. Have yet to live it down.

"This is old news," I say gruffly, returning to the task at hand, "Summer is passing, Durin's Day will soon be upon us!"

"We still have time." Balin assures me.

"For what?" Baggins wonders.

"To find the entrance."

Balin, no-

"We have to standing in exactly the right spot, at exactly the right time. Then and only then can the door be opened."

Yes, _thank you_ Balin for pointing out the obvious and letting _Lord Eldong-ond whatever his name is_ know our plans, honestly.

"So this is your purpose? To enter the Mountain?"

Quite literally at wits end. Cannot believe the audacity.

"What of it?" I throw back, just daring his nose to get any closer to my business. My business is not for his nose (dirty lecher).

"There are some who would not deem it _wise_."

He says that as if I should actually give any shits.

"What do you mean?" Gandalf asks, ever the worrier.

"You are not the only guardian to stand watch over Middle Earth."

Then he exits in a purposefully dramatic and elusive fashion, leaving us there all blinking dumbly at one another.

Durin's beard.

His one-liners are even more cryptic and incomprehensible than Gandalf's.

Hate elves so much I could cry.


	4. Chapter 4

So I've been flailing over various TV shows and other silly things a lot this week. Pinnacle of human evolution, me.

Enjoy this chapter, chicas, and keep those comments comin'! (You better. Thorin will sass all over you if not.)

:D

* * *

**Day 28.**

**17:39.** Have been here three days now. Was ready to leave after three _minutes_, but alas, Gandalf says he needs to wait until this 'White Council' are assembled to talk to him. Sounds vaguely racist to me.

"They are here," Gandalf tells us as we impatiently wait for Bombur's sausages to cook. All got sick of nothing but rabbit food and have decided to prepare our own dinners. Using the elves' supplies, of course. Now they're as sausage-less as we are homeless, _ha._

"I must leave you now, friends. Lord Elrond will be waiting to escort me there. You remember what I told you?"

"We are to leave once we have eaten, under cover of darkness," Balin recites amicably.

Gandalf nods sternly, rising to his feet, "I suspect Lord Elrond and the others will have much to say, without great thought to your whereabouts, but I cannot speak for the other elves throughout Rivendell. Be sure to make haste."

"These others you speak of…" I query casually.

"Ah, that would be Lady Galadriel and Saruman the White. I believe I have already mentioned him…"

Yes, the _other_ other wizard.

A meeting of loony wizards and elves. Count me out.

"We will do as you say," I agree fairly, "Just keep them talking."

Shouldn't be too hard, elves can talk rubbish for days.

With a wry tip of his ridiculous hat, Gandalf is off.

**18:20.** Bombur breaks table.

Admittedly hilarious. Choke on Brussels sprout.

**05:43.** Sneaking out of Rivendell surprisingly easy. Elves clearly all incompetents.

Dawn breaks just as we begin to ascend the mountain path, free from clutches of Eldong and the rest of them, and I take a moment to look back on the place with overwhelming sense of smug satisfaction.

Feels fantastic. May legitimately break out into song.

Notice that the hobbit is also looking back, but body language suggests he is significantly sorrier to leave.

Why? He doesn't _genuinely_ like elves, does he? Mahal be good. Did Eldong try to seduce him too? Cannot stand the thought.

…

…Does the hobbit not find _me_ attractive?

Impossible.

Then again…hobbit tastes most likely different to dwarf ones. Just because I am universally acknowledged hot tamale amongst own people does not necessarily mean Bilbo Baggins thinks so.

Not that I care or anything.

"Master Baggins," I call irritably, "I suggest you keep up!"

He shoots me a rather exasperated look, but turns to follow the Company nonetheless.

Honestly, such an attitude.

**05:50.** Wonder how Gandalf is getting on at his racist meeting?

**09:57.** Terrain getting increasingly ludicrous. Rockier and rockier…

Stone in shoe. Excellent.

Eye Baggins' bare feet.

_He_ seems to be coping just fine, which is embarrassing.

**14:28.** Altitude increasing. Very high up now.

Not that I care. Dwarves are just more accustomed to being below ground, and, well, being on _top_ of a mountain was never really the goal.

Am not scared of heights. Just…heights-aware.

Fili and Kili can be heard making fun of elven dress.

Smile fondly at them.

I used to carve them little wooden figurines to play with (maybe not _quite_ as good as Bofur's) now and again when they were dwarflings, often based on any family and friends that came to mind. Sometimes enemies, too.

"And this one," I once told a little Fili whilst his baby brother slept, "Is called Mr. Flamboyant Moron-Face."

"Wha's famboyot?"

"Flamboyant," I repeat clearly, "It's just another word for _Thranduil_, really."

I gesture at the wooden Elf-King in my nephew's little fist. "Feel free to gouge the eyes out on that one, Fili."

Instead of my perfectly reasonable suggestion, Fili gives it to baby Kili, whose tiny hand automatically grasps it even in sleep and promptly starts sucking on Thranduil's head.

One of my weirder memories, admittedly.

**21:03.** Is raining again. No, _storming_ more fitting word. Because Mahal passionately hates me.

Also is the middle of the night and am making way around mountainside on two-foot wide ledge.

Am very heights-aware right now.

"Ahh!"

Sudden commotion behind me, and turn to see hobbit leaning perilously over the edge, held back only by dwarf hands that hurriedly pull him to safety.

Heart thumping like an electrocuted badger's. Ignore moment of total horror and try to compose self.

If Baggins wants to practice his cliff-diving he'll have to do it some other time, honestly!

"We must find shelter!" I yell over the howling wind and rain, but am rudely interrupted by what appears to be ginormous boulder flying through the air towards us.

Of course.

The impact when the damned thing collides with the mountain above us is huge, and as bits of rock bigger than me come crashing down we all attached ourselves to the wall like desperate sea urchins.

"This is no thunder storm, it's a thunder battle!"

If the giant stone-people are any indication, yes _thank you_ Balin.

"Well bless me!" Bofur cries over the uproar, "The legends are true! Giants – _stone_ _giants!_"

Durin's beard, is everyone just a bit slow tonight?

With an earth-shattering groan, another giant emerges from the mountain behind us, and oh good that's two of them.

"Take cover or fall!" I yell, but then-

"What's happening!?"

The rock under our feet begins to shift, and it's with a numb sort of acceptance that I realise we are all standing on another giant. Obviously.

"Kili, take my hand!"

Watch with growing exasperation as the spilt in the rock between Fili and Kili widens and they reach for each other, and_ Mahal above_ it's all getting a bit emotional-

"_Kili!"_

Tearing up.

**21:18.**One of the giants head-butts ours.

Rude.

**21:20.** Am almost starting getting used to flying about on stone giant's kneecaps (its rather like some sort of children's' festival ride, only with one hundred percent more chance of death), but then the other half of the party's giant falls backwards like a fool and his knee goes ramming itself into the mountainside.

The knee with the other half of the party on it.

"_No!"_ I cry, because this is completely the opposite of what I want and we all race forward as the giant falls away, and oh _shit buggering bollocks_ please don't them all be crushed into paste-

"We're alright!" Cries a faint voice as I round the corner, "We're alive!"

Sure enough they are, and I practically collapse in relief to see them all lying there in a big _breathing_ pile, particularly Fili despite him looking as though he's just suffered an out-of-body experience.

"Where's Bilbo!?" Bofur cries urgently, "Where's the hobbit!?"

This must be what an aneurism feels like.

Turns out he's hanging off the edge, and almost slips completely before Bofur and Ori grab him, but they still can't pull him up.

Time for some majestic intervention.

Would lie and say my vaulting over the side of a mountain to save my – _our_ burglar isn't totally heroic and impressive, but it is. Cannot relax until he is safely sprawled on flat ground like dazed deer, but then almost fall to my own death as a result (until Dwalin catches me and hauls me to safety, thank Mahal for Dwalin).

Am by this stage at wits' end.

"I thought we lost our burglar!"

And what about _me?_

"He's been lost ever since he left home," I rave angrily, gasping for air as I shakily stand because I almost _died_ if anyone cares, "He should never have come; he has no place amongst us!"

What? He doesn't. He should have stayed in his cosy little hobbit-hole where there is absolutely no danger of him falling off cliffs or being filleted by trolls or eaten by wargs. Or being all cute and lovely and making Kings Under Mountains throw themselves off cliffs to save him.

And he's giving me heartbroken puppy eyes.

Stop it, you horrid little-

…

…Bugger.

Now I feel bad.

**21:45.** Ignoring hobbit and his heartbroken face.

"Get a fire going," I tell them as we settle inside a cave big enough to house us all, "Get some sleep. We start at first light."

"We were to wait in the mountains until Gandalf joined us!" Balin reminds me worriedly.

"Plans change," I tell him, cool as a cucumber, because Gandalf is not the boss of me damnit.

**22:51.** Have all settled down for the night (crumpled bedroll never felt so good). Am just nodding off when I hear rustling and Bofur's hushed exclamation, "Where are you going?"

What? Who's going where now? Am facing the other way and cannot see.

"Back to Rivendell."

Baggins? Back to-

Oh, Eldong, you crafty lecher you.

He really _did_ seduce our hobbit! And now the poor misguided fool wants to go back! Unbelievable.

"But you can't turn back now; you're part of the company!" Bofur hisses urgently. "You're one of us!"

"I'm not though, am I?"

Oh.

"Thorin said I should never have come and he's right. I'm not a Took, I'm a Baggins. I don't know what I was thinking."

Um.

Well…

Alright, so I _might_ have said-

But it more of a _suggestion_, really, and-

It's not like-

…

_Bugger._

Oh, I feel like a complete arse. The biggest arse that ever arsed. Bigger, even.

Mahal save me.

"I should never have run out my door."

Oh, make him stop; I can practically hear the violins-

"You're homesick," Bofur tells him gently, "I understand."

"No, you _don't_ understand, none of you do – you're dwarves! You're used to living _this_ life, to living on the road, never settling in one place, not _belonging anywhere_!"

Low blow.

In wake of the stony silence, Baggins seems to remember himself. "Look, I'm-I'm sorry, I didn't…"

There is an awkward silence.

"No, you're right. We don't belong anywhere."

Durin's beard, someone give me my harp. Getting all emotional.

There's the definite sound of Friendly Shoulder Slapping, and Bofur says, "I wish you all the luck in the world. I really do."

Honestly, there are more feelings in this cave at the moment then there are dwarves. Why don't we all just forget about Erebor and set up a travelling support group whilst we're at it?

"What's that?"

Oh, what _now-_

…

…Why does it feel like the sand underneath me is suddenly sagging?

…

_Holy mother of-_

"Wake up!" I shout frantically, "Wake up!"

Abruptly, the floor opens up below us.

Am going to cry.

**23:01.** Humongous Slide of Death: zero out of ten, would not recommend.

Honestly, feel completely sick and battered to a pulp as I roll down the twisting, twinging path like a spastic penguin, but manage to catch a glimpse of Kili as he slides past me looking sort of morbidly entertained by it all. Typical.

Fili looks twice as green as he did earlier.

Land in horrific pile of fat dwarves in most undignified manner.

Where the hell are we?

This is somehow Gandalf's fault.

Horrible screeching noises, and by the time I manage to get up on my elbows find self facing oncoming battalion of _goblins_ charging at us like escaped mentals.

Am beginning to suspect fate is back to buggering me in the ass.

**23:09.** Dragged across rickety wooden path after rickety wooden path after rickety wooden path.

Look over the side.

Ah, seems we're very high up. Again.

Feeling quite heights-aware right now.

Led into the heart of Goblin Town, where the ugly bastards insist on greeting us with this:

_The black crack! The back crack!_

_The black crack! The back crack!_

_Down down to Goblin Town_

_Down down to Goblin Town_

_Down down to Goblin Town_

_You go, my lad!_

_Ho, ho, my lad!_

Would they _shut up?_ Don't try singing if you can't even harmonise, honestly.

Could write better lyrics in the bath.

Notice we've been brought before the fattest, most hideous goblin I have ever seen.

No, really.

"Who would be so bold as to come armed into _my_ kingdom?" He leers down at us. That is a face even a mother could not love.

"Spies? Thieves? _Assassins?_"

_Excuse me._

Does he know who I am?

(Is that actually a chin, or just a growth? Either way this guy has a serious condition.)

"Dwarves, your malevolence!"

Oh, give me strength-

"Dwarves!?"

Yes, bloody _yes_, what do we look like, Oliphants?

Oh Mahal above, childhood memories (I was not fat, damnit, I was never fat. It was puppy fat! _Puppy. Fat.)_

"Well don't just stand there, search them! Every crack, every crevice!"

_WHAT._

You better be joking, Tubbs-

"What are you doing in these parts?" He demands as our weapons are manhandled off us. Punch goblin in face, still takes my sword. Resilient buggers. Knuckles stinging. "Speak!"

No one says anything.

"Very well, if we cannot make them talk, we'll make them squawk!" Oh, but the bloody _rhyming…_ "Bring up the Mangler! Bring up the _Bone Breaker!"_

Well, excellent.

Sounds friendly.

"Start with the youngest!" He cries, pointing at a bewildered Ori.

Bloody hell. Better act the leader and, you know. Lead.

"_Wait!" _I boom in my best King Under the Mountain voice (have I mentioned a favourite at drinking parties?), shoving through the crowd until I stand before the overweight couch potato that is the Goblin King.

Decide not to mention that Kili is actually the youngest, would hardly be helpful.

"Well, well, well – look who it is!"

My reputation precedes me.

"Thorin son of Thrain, son of Thror! King Under the Mountain…" He does an overly elaborate curtsy to go with it.

Is he patronising me.

Patronising.

_Me._

"Oh, but I'm forgetting, you don't _have_ a mountain! You're not a king."

I beg your _pardon?_

Glare at him so hard blood vessels in legitimate danger of exploding.

"Which makes you…nobody, really."

Huh.

Am going to spontaneously combust.

"I know someone who would pay a pretty price for your head…" he trails of coyly, eyebrow raised.

Lots of people would pay a pretty price for many different parts of me, this is hardly news.

"Just a head," he chuckles, "Nothing attached."

Oh.

Well that's…less encouraging.

"Perhaps you know of whom I speak…An old enemy of yours."

He'll need to be more specific, I have lots of enemies. You don't go around being this majestic without inciting _some_ jealously.

"A Pale Orc, astride a white warg…"

What.

"Azog the Defiler was destroyed. He was slain in battle long ago!" I tell him firmly; because there is no way that Milky….he couldn't _possibly_ still be...

"So you think his defiling days are done, do you?"

…Crikey.

"Send word to the Pale Orc. Tell him I have found his prize."

No one tells _me_ anything, apparently.

**23:36.** Where in Durin's name is the hobbit? Probably off sewing himself a new tea cosy or something, whilst we all get torn to pieces by rabid goblins. I hope it's a bloody _magnificent_ tea cosy or else we'll have died for nothing.

**00:12.**_ Bones will be shattered!_

_Necks will be wrung!_

_You'll be beaten and battered!_

_From racks you'll be hung!_

_You will die down here and never be found!_

_Down in the deep of Goblin Town!_

Cheery bastards, I'll give them that. It's not every day you meet people so enthusiastic about torture.

There is sudden screeching. Excitable lot, aren't they?

"I know that sword! It is the Goblin-Cleaver!"

Manage to catch sight of the Goblin King pointing in fear at Orcrist, lain out on the ground before him, as if it were going to start reciting elfish poetry or something equally horrible.

Still, at least my _not-sexy_ elven sword finally gets some recognition.

"Slash them! Kill them! _Kill them all!"_

Ah.

Guess the Goblin-Cleaver isn't a party favourite. Suppose it's sort of self-explanatory.

Nasty little buggers all start beating us up in rage and _seriously_ this is not on-

One of them manages to catch me unawares and I'm pinned to the floor under its weight; it holds a long bone knife over my face with a dentally disappointing grin.

For his sake he better just be thinking of making me a sandwich with that knife, or I'll-

"Cut off his head!"

Woah, woah, hang on! Just because Eldong gave my sword a stupid provoking name-

There's a wave of brilliant white light, and the goblin on top of me is thrown down by the force of it, including anyone else unfortunate enough to be standing upright.

Then there's darkness.

Blearily turn head to squint into shadow – is that a figure?

Please Mahal, anyone but Radagast the Bloody Brown. We do not need mutant rabbits right now.

The figure steps into the light, and I feel embarrassingly relieved.

_Gandalf!_

Might genuinely kiss him this time.

"Take up arms!" He roars, "Fight! _Fight!_"

Alright, gosh.

Bossy.


	5. Chapter 5

So hear it is, ladies and gents, Chapter 5! And I must tell you now, this is (until the second movie comes out in December) the last chapter of this fic.

Yes, I'm sorry to say it's true; this is for now the last update! But I repeat: UNTIL THE SECOND MOVIE COMES OUT. When the movie version of the story continues, so will this fic. I've chosen to wait for a number of reasons, but the main one is clearly because I am following the movie!verse events in The Hobbit, and so want to follow PJ's story line. Rewriting the book by myself would be gruelling and probably nowhere near as good.

Fear not! Like the majestic phoenix this baby will rise once more from the ashes, to bring you rainbow tears of joy and happiness as Thorin struggles ever on with his exasperating quest.

Until then, please just enjoy (and re-visit!) this fic as if it was a completed works. And make sure you're subscribed, because it will return…hilarity abound!

Thank you all for showing this story so much love and support (and I hope you will come back for more!). You guys are literally the best.

* * *

**Day 29.**

**00:20.** Gandalf is many things (user of Booming Voice of Certain Doom, seller of contraband fireworks, owner of Magic Staff of Death), but did not realize he was also some sort of Highly Trained Combat Warrior.

Watch as he throws his staff around (oh) and takes out approximately a gazillion goblins in one move.

Note to self: _Really_ need to start jogging regularly.

"Thorin!" I hear someone shout in warning, and turn just in time to see the Goblin King bearing down on me with his gigantic skull-club-thing.

Not today, Fatty!

Block his attack with Orcrist and he goes reeling backwards, stumbling over his minions until he topples backwards clean off the edge of the platform with a screech, arse-over-tit.

That's what you get for having no lyrical talent.

**00:29.** Gandalf sends Glamdring through a goblin's neck, but for a moment it seems he's missed because the goblin in question looks perfectly fine-

Gandalf taps it on the side of the head with his staff and the head goes rolling off with a _pop._

Right.

Well.

**00:33.** How did the wizard even find us? Did he use the Humongous Slide of Death too?

Starting to question own sanity.

"Follow me!" he shouts once most of the goblins around us are felled, "Quick!"

I'm coming, I'm coming! Just let me-

Smack goblin hard in face with flat of my blade.

All done.

**00:46.** Follow Gandalf across platform after platform, and everywhere the huge cavern echoes with a thousand goblins' angry shrieking.

Just because I sent their king cliff-diving, honestly.

**01:01.** Durin's beard, I'm a brilliant fighter.

Must be like sex to watch.

**01:27.** Cross another walkway, and the Goblin King promptly explodes out of the woodwork.

Was he just sat under there waiting for us?

Seriously thought I'd offed him already.

"You thought you could escape _me?_" He snarls, and almost batters Gandalf to death with his skull-club-thing until we pull the bewildered old fogie backwards out the way.

"What you gonna do now, _wizard?_" Fatty persists with a huge shit-eater of a grin, but promptly shuts up when Gandalf rams his Magic Staff of Death into his eye and swipes his sword across his fat belly.

"_Owww!"_ He wails and falls to his knees.

Blinks at us.

"That'll do it."

Gandalf cuts his throat (seriously do not want to be around the guy on a Monday morning), and when the King collapses the walkway beneath us groans ominously.

Oh for the love of-

**01:38.** Vertical Slide of Absolute Terror: minus five out of ten, would not recommend to worst enemy.

Could practically cry in relief when we land, all body parts accounted for.

"Well," Bofur calls happily from somewhere amongst the rubble, "That could've been worse!"

Goblin King slams down on top of us.

"You've- got to be-_joking!_"

Yes, Dwalin, exactly.

**01:44.** "Gandalf!" Cries Kili, and we all look up to see veritable _army_ of goblins storming down towards us.

Time to go.

**17:38.** When we finally make it outside I am on the verge of kissing the ground and making a live sacrifice to whatever god has let us live.

Certainly wasn't Mahal.

Hates me.

Gandalf is counting us off as though he were some sort of teacher keeping track of his dwarfling class on a day-trip out. Honestly.

"Bofur, that's ten…Fili, Kili, that's twelve…and Bombur, which makes thirteen. Where is Bilbo?" He looks around, "Where is our hobbit?"

Oh.

"Where is our hobbit!?"

"Curse the Halfling!" Dwalin spits angrily, "Now he's lost! I thought he was with Dori!"

"Don't blame me!"

"Well, where did you last see him?"

Need a bit of a lie down.

"I think I saw him slip away when they first collared us!"

"Well what happened exactly? Tell me!"

"I'll tell you what happened," I growl, because I have been at end of my tether for a while now, _bloody hell_, "Master Baggins saw his chance and he took it!" If he wants to leave me – _us_, then fine! Bugger him. "He's thought of nothing but his soft bed and warm hearth since he first stepped out of his door. We will not be seeing our hobbit again. He is long gone."

Don't even care.

At all.

_At all._

"No, he isn't."

_What the-!?_

Turn around.

Stare.

Oh.

Bilbo Baggins is staring back at me.

Well this is…awkward.

"Bilbo Baggins!" Gandalf cries delightedly, "I have never been so glad to see anyone in my life!"

"Bilbo!" Kili exclaims happily, "We'd given you up!"

Well, _I'd_ given him up, and now I feel like a massive arse again.

"How on earth did you get past the goblins?" Queries Fili.

Good bloody question.

"Oh, ah…" he laughs nervously and fiddles with his waistcoat pocket.

Squint suspiciously at him.

"Well," Gandalf intercepts cheerily, "What does it matter? He's back!"

"It matters," I counter, staring right at Baggins until he tentatively returns my gaze, "I want to know. Why _did_ you come back?"

And Durin's beard, I don't sound too soppy and hopeful, do I?

Suddenly his expression changes.

"Look, I know you doubt me. I know you always have."

Oh Mahal above.

"And you're right, I often think of Bag End," he shrugs matter-of-factly. "I miss my books. And my armchair, and my garden."

I miss my sanity.

"See, that's where I belong," he tells me squarely, "That's home. And that's why I came back, because…"

He glances over each and every one of us, but his gaze quickly returns to me.

"You don't have one; a home. It was taken from you."

Something unnatural is happening in my chest.

"But I will help you take it back if I can."

…Well, bugger me.

Did not foresee that one.

At all.

Feel like jelly in a King-shaped mould.

There is a somewhat shamed and stunned silence, in which the entire Company seems to regard Baggins with new eyes. Gandalf just looks entirely pleased with himself.

It's a very odd, emotional moment.

And then the howling of wargs echoes out across the mountain side.

Of course.

I snarl quietly, "Out of the frying pan-"

"-And into the fire," mutters Gandalf and would he _please_ stop finishing my sentences for me?

"Run!" He shouts, _"Run!"_

Don't understand this need of his to constantly shout the obvious. I'm hardly going to sit down and have teatime with Baggins whilst another pack of wargs or whatever else comes for us.

Unless I wanted to off myself.

So maybe I would.

**18:02.**_ Running, running…_

Stone in shoe. Again.

Feeling a bit homicidal.

**18:17**. So it seems we've reached a cliff-edge.

Time to assess my options.

Bloodthirsty warg pack in one direction, 150 foot fall to the death in the other.

Hm.

"Up into the trees, all of you!" Shouts Gandalf hurriedly, "Come on, climb!"

I was just about to suggest that.

Everyone nods hurriedly and begins to ascend.

I'm full of good ideas.

"They're coming!" I cry warningly and oh Mahal now _I'm_ shouting the obvious.

Bugger Gandalf.

**18:26.** Safely perched in tree like ridiculous squirrel.

All of us together probably look like a very odd flock of nesting birds. Apart from, you know. The war axes. And the beards.

Where is-

_Baggins!_

He's pulling his sword out of a warg's cranium (nice), and am torn between applauding him and his new set of balls or yelling incoherently because there is an angry warg pack bearing down on him like a particularly toothy landslide-

Oh, it's alright, he's found himself a tree to climb.

Good.

Not like I sort of wanted to heroically leap down and save him or anything.

…

…He could climb _me_ like a tr-

No.

Stop it.

**18: 37.** Wargs everywhere.

Can this day get any worse?

**18:45.** It can, as it turns out.

"Azog," I breathe in disbelief, unsure if what I'm seeing is even real.

Throw quick glance in Gandalf's direction, but he's in a completely different tree and does not even appear to be smoking his pipe in the first place.

Look back wide-eyed at my old enemy, who has quite suddenly appeared on the rocky mound below.

I am (unfortunately, as it turns out) not a victim of Gandalf's second-hand smoke. Not today.

Milky must be…really back.

…

…Bugger.

Bugger everything.

**18:48. **He spews some of that filthy orc language at me and I have no idea what he is saying, which is probably for the best. We have an old habit of shouting horrible insults at each other in our native tongues, so neither of us knows what on Middle Earth the other is saying but we've always just assumed it wasn't very nice.

There was one time in the battle at Moria when he almost skewered me on his mace and spat something with such fury I thought he might actually go into cardiac arrest (which would have been quite advantageous, upon reflection).

I'm almost certain he wasn't saying something like 'I love your new shield, is it really just an oaken branch? So avant-garde!'

Stare down at him.

"It cannot be," I mutter dazedly to myself.

Because denial is my only friend right now.

Notice he is the only one with a white warg. How many breeders did he have to visit until he found a puppy that matched his own skin tone? Honestly, so vain. And almost as racist as Gandalf.

Milky points his mace at me and says something else, which I imagine roughly translates to 'leave him to me' or 'that one's mine', and then with a wave of his one remaining arm (ha) his warg-riding goblins charge.

Sigh.

**18:58.** Wargs surprisingly high jumpers.

Arse in constant peril of being torn off.

**19:09.** Have you ever played dominos, but with 30-foot high trees? Whilst riding said trees?

I have, as of today.

My tree is the first to topple under the weight of the canine assault (typical) and am forced to leaped onto the adjacent one before it crashes to the warg-invested floor with me in tow. It continues much like this as tree after tree falls under the weight of the one before it, all of us leaping about like failed acrobats.

And of course, we end up all clinging to the very last tree which could not be more precariously placed if it tried – on the very edge of the cliff precipice. If this one topples, we're done for.

Milky is laughing.

Am going to kill Milky. Going to bloody _murder_ him, then bring him back to life somehow and murder him all over again.

Unless he kills me first, as in, I get flattened to the ground 150 feet below. If so I will haunt him forever and will be as annoying as possible about it.

**19:29.** Gandalf has had another genius idea.

Watch as he sets acorn on fire (or is it a pinecone?) and throws it into the warg pack, sending them howling and scurrying backwards away from the growing flames.

I say 'genius idea' in the loosest way possible, because _hello_, flaming acorns are great and everything but need I remind everyone that we are in the middle of a _bloody great bastard forest_. Wood tends to be pretty flammable, as far as I know.

No one else seems to have noticed this slight flaw in the plan, and Gandalf liberally starts handing out acorns like sweeties.

"Fili!" He cries, passing one down to my elder nephew, and after that its madness, everyone borrowing each other's flames and lobbing the makeshift missiles all over the place. Even Baggins seems to have joined in.

Whole fiasco reminds me vaguely of Great-Uncle Frór's two hundredth birthday. I'd barely grown in my beard and it was the first time I ever got drunk, but my lewd, adolescent table-top shanties were nothing compared to Uncle Frór himself, who set fire to a large wreath of flowers and tried jumping through it on his pony (this all taking place _inside_, might I add). No one dared try to stop him, since it was _his _party and he was the King's brother and all. Granddad Thrór even cheered him on and started a betting pool.

Complete anarchy.

Didn't end well, not only for the flowers but for Frór's beard. He spent the whole night crying on my shoulder. Pulled me back down every time I tried to get away.

"Uncle Frór," I implored from where I was squashed into his armpit, "I should really-"

"I'm hideous!"

"No, no. It's…it's a different look, to be sure, but-"

"My poor beard! Oh, _oh_…Thorin, good lad, kind lad – you must make it right for your Great-Uncle. Stay with me, won't you? Everyone else keeps laughing at me."

"Right. Wait, what? No, Uncle, I think I may seriously have a chance with Morina Blacklock over there and-"

"Sssshhh…just hold me."

Morina Blacklock made off with Dáin Ironfoot that night, who kept giving me thumbs up the next day.

Ass.

**19:38.** Must be sure to keep beard as far away from flames as possible. Have suffered enough humiliations on this journey without the added insult of a singed beard, or worse, no beard at all. I'd be as hideous as Great-Uncle Frór.

…

…But Baggins pulls it off (how does he pull it off?).

**19:40**. Milky looks seriously annoyed about the flaming-acorn development.

Everyone starts cheering as our attackers back off a little, and by this stage I don't bother joining in because I've learnt that our happiness is normally the cue for things to go terribly wrong.

There is a slow, menacing _creak_, and then our tree begins tipping backwards.

Knew it.

Everyone screams (in some cases quite girlishly) and my life practically flashes before my eyes until our descent shudders to a halt.

The tree is clinging on horizontally, so here we are, hanging like loons above what seems like the biggest drop ever.

Feeling quite heights-aware right now.

**19:59.** Dori is hanging off a branch. Ori is hanging off Dori's boot.

"Mr Gandalf!" Dori cries pitifully, and he slips.

Moment of communal horror.

Then Gandalf stretches out his staff and Dori manages to cling on.

_Oh sweet mother of Mahal._ At this rate I'll be entirely grey before we even get to Erebor.

If we don't all die horribly first.

**20:07.** …

…I have had enough.

Enough has been had.

Loony wizards, frustratingly cute hobbits, idiot nephews, hungry trolls , _more_ loony wizards, elves, _more_ elves, _MORE_ elves, warg packs, inharmonious goblins, _more_ wargs packs, and now Milky.

Need to kill something.

Stare at Milky, and he stares back.

My majestic has been suppressed too long.

Rise to my feet slowly, and it is glorious. Can practically hear majestic choir of war-angels singing in the background.

Now Baggins and all the rest of them are going to see why I'm King Under the Fucking Mountain.

**20:09.** Picking up speed.

Majestic choir of war-angels still singing.

Brace oaken shield in front of me.

It all feels a little bit slow-motion, because _this is it_.

This is the end for Milky, this is the final battle, this is where I chop off his _other_ bloody arm, this is-

His warg jumps and its leg hits me in the face.

Go down like sack of potatoes.

…

…_Ow._

Durin's beard, this is so embarrassing.

Manage to get up, but just in time to receive a mace to the upper chest and _oh whoops_ there I go again, down for the count.

Ow.

Bloody _ow._

Alright, if I can just get up again-

_OW, YOU BASTARD WARG, I AM NOT A BONE!_

Mahal above, this hurts. This hurts worse than that time I fell down a mining shaft when I was forty and landed on some fool's pick axe. Arse never quite recovered.

Cannot die like this, Milky will be forever smug.

With a strangled cry I send Orcrist slamming down into the snout of Milky's warg, and get sent airborne in reply.

Land heavily.

_Oh._

Whole body hurts.

Feeling…funny…

_Ooh…_

Sword at throat.

Look up into face of Milky's right-hand orc, who grins down at me, and raises his sword.

Ugly…bastard…

Try to grab Orcrist, but it is too far away. Feel too faint to move.

So this is how it ends. How underwhelming.

There is an oddly familiar yell, and then the sword at my throat is gone.

What…the…

Could've sworn I saw the hobbit…

Ugh.

Bugger it.

Time to pass out.

**04:22.** Have weird dream where I'm flying with a giant eagle.

Gandalf and that pipe of his, honestly.

**05:18.** Wake slowly.

Have to blink approximately a thousand times before it hits me.

…I'm _not_ dead?

Well.

Excellent.

Gandalf is smiling down at me. He better not have kissed me. There's only one person I'm willing to accept CPR from…

"The halfling," I query weakly and _oh Mahal be good_, I sound awful.

"It's alright," Gandalf assures me, "Bilbo is here. Quite safe."

Manage to stumble upright (with some help, yes ok), and find we are all on top of what appears to be a great Carrock. Once again, I am in a very high place, but too tired to start complaining even to myself. And too relieved.

Note to self: Find out how we got up here and whether it had anything to do with giant eagles.

Spot the hobbit, who's tentatively smiling at me.

He saved me. This small, strange, cosy little hobbit actually took up and arms and defended me against _Milky_, he actually-

He actually…

Oh.

Oh my.

"You," I blurt out, and his smile drops. "What were you doing? You nearly got yourself killed!"

He blinks in a bewildered manner, and I slowly move towards him, because oh Mahal above, _this_ hobbit…

"Did I not say you would be a burden? That you would not survive in the wild?"

I crowd into his space, but he just looks horribly upset.

Resist urge to grin like a heart-struck fool (might look somewhat psychopathic).

"And you had no place amongst us."

He lowers his gaze, cowed.

_By my beard…_

I'm going to do it.

Right now.

I'm going in.

"I have never been so wrong," I tell him breathlessly, "In all my life."

I wrap myself around my burglar like an overly attached blanket, and am not sorry in the slightest.

Ladies and Gentledwarfs, we have made physical contact.

Physical contact has been made.

He's warm.

And soft.

And the bravest little bugger I have ever met, _oh Mahal_, my heart is going to explode out my chest and then I'll die from blood loss but I don't even care-

There is an uproar of delighted cheering behind us.

Gandalf will be unbearably smug.

Still don't care.

Bilbo relaxes against me, and I can feel his smile rather than see it.

For the first time in far too bloody long I do not feel suicidal. Quite the opposite, in fact. I tighten my hold around the hobbit, unwilling to let him go, but just as quickly realize everyone has just about stopped cheering and pretty soon will be giving me the suggestive eyebrow.

Let Bilbo go.

"I am sorry I doubted you," I tell him gravely.

Please let him forgive me. I realise I am a certified arse sometimes (most of the time), and I have arsed all over the poor fellow far too often in past weeks.

"No, I would have doubted me too," he tells me bashfully. "I'm not a hero, or a warrior," He glances at Gandalf, "Or even a burglar!"

Cannot stop smiling at him.

My face isn't even aching.

**05:41.** There is a low screech on the air, and we all turn to watch as a group of _giant flying eagles_ disappear back into the clouds.

Huh.

That explains that, then.

Turn back to grin creepily at Bilbo some more, but then notice something on the horizon above his curly hair.

…

…_Thank you Mahal._

For once, he does not hate me.

"Is that…what I think it is?" The hobbit gasps quietly and yes, _yes_, Bilbo Baggins, that_ is_ what you think it is.

"Erebor," Gandalf announces as we walk to the edge of the Carrock in awe, "The Lonely Mountain. The last of the great Dwarf Kingdoms in Middle Earth."

Too happy to be annoyed that he is pointing out the obvious again.

"Our home," I breathe to myself, and I am definitely coming over all emotional, where the bloody hell is my harp when I want it-

"A raven!" Cries Óin as a twittering birds flies past in the direction of Erebor, "The birds are returning to the Mountain!"

"That, my dear Óin, is a thrush," Gandalf corrects him.

Honestly, is this any time to be bird-watching?

"We'll take it as a sign," I murmur, too cheery to really mind, "A good omen."

Smile at the hobbit again.

Still don't care if I look nutty.

"You're right," Bilbo agrees with a contented sigh, "I do believe the worst is behind us."

Smile freezes on my face.

Earlier thought of mine comes back to me.

_Our happiness is normally the cue for things to go terribly wrong._

…

…

…Bugger.


End file.
